


If We’re Made of Stars

by ghostofgatsby



Series: Of Stars and Skies Above [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Domesticity, Gen, Space AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His jumpsuit is laying in a crumpled heap from last night. Smith picks it up with a heavy sigh, and smooths out the wrinkles in the aeronautics emblem on the back. A silver space jet soars through a starry sky, over Mars and the New cities that were built when Smith was only a child.<br/>Ever since, this had been his dream.<br/>Smith’s eyes land on his busted knuckles, and his wistful thoughts turn sour.<br/>Childhood dreams aren’t as easy as they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We’re Made of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> cws: mentions of bruises/injuries, fighting/bullying, homophobia, anger, and anger management issues.  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> also, if anyone wants a beta, I'd be interested in helping out. shoot me an email @gmail.com
> 
> reblog?: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/if-were-made-of-stars-ghostofgatsby
> 
> http://chapel.tumblr.com/post/131784331731/following-back-tons  
> http://nickgerber.tumblr.com/post/72447695954/olive-park-and-the-river  
> http://nickgerber.tumblr.com/post/128737490235/recently-on-instagram-realnickgerber  
> http://nickgerber.tumblr.com/post/136886173430/recently-on-instagram-realnickgerber  
> Chicago

The morning chill blows in under the door, turning the kitchenette and living room into an icebox.

Smith shudders heavily. The apartment is never warm enough, and he silently curses at the coffee pot to hurry the fuck up today. As he waits for the water to come to a boil, he sets their mugs out on the counter. There’s a pug-faced one for himself, a plain navy blue one for Ross, and a tea-stained teacup for Trott.

Smith digs a spoon out of the drawer and adds two scoops of instant coffee into his and Ross’ cups. His hands are freezing. The fucking arctic chill in the room makes it impossible to keep them warm.

He never thought he’d miss the humidity of Cape Canaveral in the summer, but Chicago’s winter can suck a dick.

Smith reminds himself to keep moving. He doesn’t have time to dawdle, if he wants to take a few moments to drink his coffee instead of inhale it. Smith takes comfort in the familiarity of the motions as he reaches for the tea bags next. He peels back the paper and gently lifts the tea bag into Trott’s cup.

Whoever gets up first starts the coffee and tea- it’s a habit they picked up in college without much thought. Smith has taken up the job, since he leaves first in the morning for the academy, but it’s not so much a chore as it is a ritual. Gives him some time to wake up and get his thoughts in order.

They really need to stick something under the door to block the cold, though- before Smith turns into a human popsicle. He wishes he’d stolen the blanket off their bed, especially as he shuffles over to the door and closer to the source of the winter air.

His jumpsuit is laying in a crumpled heap from last night. Smith picks it up with a heavy sigh, and smooths out the wrinkles in the aeronautics emblem on the back. A silver space jet soars through a starry sky, over Mars and the New cities that were built when Smith was only a child.

Ever since, this had been his dream. To fly through space, and live on Mars, as one of the greatest space pilots of his time.

Smith’s eyes land on his busted knuckles, wrapped in band-aids, and his wistful thoughts turn sour.

Childhood dreams aren’t as easy as they seem.

His face is sore from yesterday. The worst of the bruising is atop his right cheek, and it makes him feel more tired than he should be. His split lip has scabbed over, and he knows he’ll be distractedly licking over it all day.

It wasn’t as if Smith wanted to get into fights. But he couldn’t just sit back and let those assholes run their mouths. Despite there being an acceptance and support of people like him, there were still people that used homophobic comments as jokes. Smith had put up with it enough in high school. He wasn’t going to sit by and let them shove him back into a box.

But it’s not that easy to protect yourself and not get fucked up in the process. It’s not that easy to keep your anger from getting the best of you.

Smith swallows down the fear, the fury at the fuckheads at the training center and at himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut.

Fuck, he can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep skirting the line of getting in trouble with the dean and getting himself expelled.

He couldn't get himself kicked out.

Trott and Ross were all he had, and if that happened, they’d go on without him.

He'd lose them.

He'd lose it all.

It wasn't the first time Trott had told him to watch himself. That was how they met, when Smith had his ass handed to him by some bullies and Trott just walked up and kicked them in the balls.

He had tiptoed around Trott for a while, unsure if his caustic humor would get him kicked, too. But Trott had a thick skin, and ran right along with Smith’s jokes. He just didn’t like seeing Smith get his ass handed to him. Their friendship, and Trott’s black belt in karate, made sure the bullies left them be.

Ross showed up mid-way through high school when he moved down from Michigan to Florida. He was way too nice for his own good, and because of his insecurities half the class stepped all over him. He was somewhat of an outcast for being so quiet, but he fell into a friendship with Trott first, and then Smith when Trott introduced them.

Together, they became the best team- tackling school projects during the day and wrecking each other at video games during the night. They were so close, that when graduation was on their doorstep, they promised themselves they’d stick together.

And somehow, they made it. Through college, and now here, at the aeronautics academy. They had a long way to go yet, but they’d seen each other grow up, become more independent, and tackle hard life choices. They were there for each other at every turn.

Smith smiles at the memories, and refocuses at the emblem in his hands. The three of them...against the world. Against everything.

His hands painfully tighten in the fabric.

Who's to say they can't get through this? Who says this has to be the end?

It's not like when he was a kid- he's not here just for himself. He's here for them, too. All three of them worked their asses off just to get this far.

This dream of his turned into a dream they shared.

He couldn't fail them now.

Smith takes a deep breath and puts his jumpsuit back on. The fabric rustles as he zips the long zipper up to his collarbone and brushes the dirt off the front. He returns to the counter to fix his coffee, and carries the cup to the living room window.

The sun is rising up over the edge of Lake Michigan, shining off the buildings and turning the sky a dusty gold. Chicago traffic is starting to increase, and the sound of disgruntled drivers can be heard under the sounds of snoring coming from the bedroom.

Smith chuckles. The coffee is bitter on his tongue, but it banishes the December chill from his bones. Steam rises from his cup. He gives the bedroom door a longing look, wishing he was back under the covers between the people he cares about the most.

Instead, he has to go out into the cold. Fucking _great_.

Smiling sadly, Smith checks his watch. 7:15 am. He has to leave now to catch the L. If he doesn’t, he’s going to be late, and he can’t afford to be. He has too much on his shoulders to let it all go to waste now.

Smith finishes his coffee, bundles up, and heads out the door.


End file.
